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Authors: Candace Robb
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ease, then.’
Bess did as requested, with more energy than Julian might have liked. But he sank back on the pillows and thanked her.
‘When Laurence said he would burn his wife’s belongings, I offered to help him. He did not say nay. He was to come for me when he was ready. I was down with the orphans, telling them stories, when I noticed smoke. More than the usual smoke. I ran out, found the fire untended, spreading to brush that had been dropped outside the fire circle. That was worrying. Laurence was a careful man. I stepped into his house thinking he might have thought of something else that must go.’ Julian paused, a bandaged hand pressed to his forehead. He took a deep breath, dropped the hand, stared down at the floor beside his bed. ‘He lay on the ground, face down, a bloody gash in his head – bloodier than the one I was soon to receive.’
Bess already had doubts about the story. ‘You noticed all this with the fire spreading round you?’
‘The fire was without, not inside,’ Julian said impatiently. ‘I knelt over Laurence to lift him and help him breathe. I was hit from behind. Not as hard as Laurence must have been hit, but it dizzied me. I fell over Laurence and rolled off him, spent a moment getting my breath back. That is when I smelled smoke inside. I looked round, the house was ablaze. So suddenly. Someone rushed out of the door, but the smoke made it impossible to tell anything about him. I dragged Laurence out, but his clothes—’ Julian’s voice broke. He shook his head.
‘And no one has listened to your story?’ Bess glanced over at Erkenwald, who stared thoughtfully at the floor.
‘They say I am confused,’ Julian said.
‘Who says that?’
‘Don Cuthbert.’
‘That snivelling— I’ll confuse him—’
Julian put a bandaged hand on Bess’s arm to quiet her. ‘You would help me, niece?’
‘Of course.’
‘They mean to bury Laurence quickly. For fear of the pestilence. Idiots. He died by fire. But that is their aim. You must convince Don Cuthbert or someone here at the hospital, someone respected, to examine Laurence before he is buried.’
Bess hesitated. The task did not appeal. ‘Why?’
‘Someone else must see his wound. Stand as my witness. Someone who would not otherwise listen to me.’
And what if there is no such wound, Bess wondered. Julian had been knocked hard – he might have imagined it all. Still, there was sense in his request. She glanced over at Erkenwald, who watched her with interest. ‘Will you be his witness?’
‘Gladly.’
Honoria de Staines crossed herself and shook her head when Erkenwald ordered her to untie Laurence de Warrene’s shroud.
‘It is not as if we had asked you to open a grave,’ Bess said.
The lay sister clenched her hands. ‘I do not like it.’ She had turned pale.
Bess thought her pitifully squeamish for one who worked in an infirmary.
‘’Tis much the same as opening a grave,’ the woman said. ‘It is disturbing the dead.’
‘To prove that he was attacked. His spirit will not rest otherwise,’ Bess said.
Honoria sank down on a bench beside the shrouded corpse, pressed the heels of her palms to her forehead.
Don Cuthbert chose the moment to flutter into the room and demand an explanation. Erkenwald patiently told him why they were there.
To Bess’s surprise, the cellarer pressed a linen cloth to his nose and waved them on.
‘We cannot convince this sister to co-operate,’ Bess said. ‘Do I have your permission to open the shroud?’
‘Make haste!’ Cuthbert gasped.
Erkenwald nodded at the tiny canon. ‘It is not a pleasant odour. But better now than once in the ground.’
Bess made short work of the knot, then bent over the corpse, gingerly turning the head. The odour was indeed unpleasant.
Erkenwald leaned close, touched the wound. ‘Someone knew where to aim it.’
‘God help us,’ Cuthbert said.
Bess glanced over at the cellarer. ‘Come here. Feel this.’
Instead of
Bess did as requested, with more energy than Julian might have liked. But he sank back on the pillows and thanked her.
‘When Laurence said he would burn his wife’s belongings, I offered to help him. He did not say nay. He was to come for me when he was ready. I was down with the orphans, telling them stories, when I noticed smoke. More than the usual smoke. I ran out, found the fire untended, spreading to brush that had been dropped outside the fire circle. That was worrying. Laurence was a careful man. I stepped into his house thinking he might have thought of something else that must go.’ Julian paused, a bandaged hand pressed to his forehead. He took a deep breath, dropped the hand, stared down at the floor beside his bed. ‘He lay on the ground, face down, a bloody gash in his head – bloodier than the one I was soon to receive.’
Bess already had doubts about the story. ‘You noticed all this with the fire spreading round you?’
‘The fire was without, not inside,’ Julian said impatiently. ‘I knelt over Laurence to lift him and help him breathe. I was hit from behind. Not as hard as Laurence must have been hit, but it dizzied me. I fell over Laurence and rolled off him, spent a moment getting my breath back. That is when I smelled smoke inside. I looked round, the house was ablaze. So suddenly. Someone rushed out of the door, but the smoke made it impossible to tell anything about him. I dragged Laurence out, but his clothes—’ Julian’s voice broke. He shook his head.
‘And no one has listened to your story?’ Bess glanced over at Erkenwald, who stared thoughtfully at the floor.
‘They say I am confused,’ Julian said.
‘Who says that?’
‘Don Cuthbert.’
‘That snivelling— I’ll confuse him—’
Julian put a bandaged hand on Bess’s arm to quiet her. ‘You would help me, niece?’
‘Of course.’
‘They mean to bury Laurence quickly. For fear of the pestilence. Idiots. He died by fire. But that is their aim. You must convince Don Cuthbert or someone here at the hospital, someone respected, to examine Laurence before he is buried.’
Bess hesitated. The task did not appeal. ‘Why?’
‘Someone else must see his wound. Stand as my witness. Someone who would not otherwise listen to me.’
And what if there is no such wound, Bess wondered. Julian had been knocked hard – he might have imagined it all. Still, there was sense in his request. She glanced over at Erkenwald, who watched her with interest. ‘Will you be his witness?’
‘Gladly.’
Honoria de Staines crossed herself and shook her head when Erkenwald ordered her to untie Laurence de Warrene’s shroud.
‘It is not as if we had asked you to open a grave,’ Bess said.
The lay sister clenched her hands. ‘I do not like it.’ She had turned pale.
Bess thought her pitifully squeamish for one who worked in an infirmary.
‘’Tis much the same as opening a grave,’ the woman said. ‘It is disturbing the dead.’
‘To prove that he was attacked. His spirit will not rest otherwise,’ Bess said.
Honoria sank down on a bench beside the shrouded corpse, pressed the heels of her palms to her forehead.
Don Cuthbert chose the moment to flutter into the room and demand an explanation. Erkenwald patiently told him why they were there.
To Bess’s surprise, the cellarer pressed a linen cloth to his nose and waved them on.
‘We cannot convince this sister to co-operate,’ Bess said. ‘Do I have your permission to open the shroud?’
‘Make haste!’ Cuthbert gasped.
Erkenwald nodded at the tiny canon. ‘It is not a pleasant odour. But better now than once in the ground.’
Bess made short work of the knot, then bent over the corpse, gingerly turning the head. The odour was indeed unpleasant.
Erkenwald leaned close, touched the wound. ‘Someone knew where to aim it.’
‘God help us,’ Cuthbert said.
Bess glanced over at the cellarer. ‘Come here. Feel this.’
Instead of
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